Chapter 7 - The Anatomy of a Trap
Frank didn't look surprised. In fact, a dark, knowing glint flickered deep within his pale grey eyes. He took two slow steps toward the desk, his heavy work boots leaving faint, oil-darkened smudges on the clean carpet.
"You think you're firing me, Arthur?" Frank asked, his voice disturbingly calm, completely devoid of the anger Arthur was projecting.
Arthur sneered, opening his top desk drawer to pull out a termination form. "Effective immediately. Gross insubordination. Interference with business operations. Pack your tools and get out before I call the cops to escort your old ass off the property."
Frank reached into his internal jumpsuit pocket. He didn't pull out a wrench or a screwdriver. Instead, he withdrew a small, sleek black digital audio recorder, its top corner glowing with a steady, unblinking red LED light.
Arthur froze, the pen dropping from his hand onto the blotter.
May you like
"What... what is that?" Arthur stammered, his sudden loss of composure striking like a physical blow.
"I’ve been wearing this under my overalls for three weeks, Arthur," Frank said, placing the small black device gently onto the center of the mahogany desk. "Every transmission you faked. Every inflated quote. Every threat you made to tow people's cars if they didn't hand over their rent money. It's all right here. Clear as a bell."
